


a book you read in reverse

by catwing



Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, rated M to be safe but this is p softcore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwing/pseuds/catwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ballister brings Ambrosius home with him when he gets out of the hospital aka Highly Necessary Fix-It Fic aka REALLY GAY.doc</p>
            </blockquote>





	a book you read in reverse

Getting Ambrosius out of the hospital was an ordeal. With the Institution still in upheaval, no one was quite sure which protocols to follow. There was paperwork. There was a question asking about “nature of relationship” that Ballister scowled at for almost a full minute before ignoring completely. Finally he marched into Ambrosius’s room and asked if he was ready to go.

“Go?” Ambrosius looked up at him.

While his right eye and the cuts in his side were still bandaged, his bruises had faded considerably and his stitches had been taken out. He looked better, but Ballister’s chest still felt tight looking at him.

“I thought you said you were ready to leave today.”

“Oh,” Ambrosius said, “Yes, I suppose.” He frowned slightly to himself.

“Well, come on. It’s a long way to my castle.” Ballister said brusquely.

“Your... oh.” Ambrosius stared at him. “Al- alright, then, just give me a minute.”

They rented a horse for Ambrosius to ride, and Ballister walked beside it. They barely spoke as they made their way through the town and then out onto the road that lead to home. Once there, Ballister made Ambrosius a bed on the couch and asked if there was anything he needed. Ambrosius shook his head, his hands clasped nervously in front of him and not meeting Ballister’s eye.

They mostly ignored one another for the next hour or so. Ambrosius pretended to sleep. Ballister wandered in and out of the room. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. He went to the couch and sat on the edge.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Ambrosius pulled a face. “Rotten. Glad to be out of the hospital though.”

“Hm.”

Ballister stared at the opposite wall. It was strange being back here, still. The rooms all felt bigger, quieter. Empty. Ballister tried to remember if this was how they had felt during all the years he’d spent here alone.

“You miss her, don’t you,” Ambrosius said.

Ballister turned, surprised, and saw Ambrosius looking down at his hands. Ballister considered.

“Yes,” he said finally. “It’s alright though.”

Ambrosius looked up at him.

“You were right,” Ballister said. “There was no way she could have stayed. So...” he shrugged, not quite sure how to explain. “It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Ambrosius said quietly, after a pause.

“For what?” Ballister asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ambrosius balked at the question. “I don’t know, just that... you know, that she’s gone and that I was right and... and all that...” Ambrosius blushed as he trailed off.

Ballister almost smiled, but caught himself.

“Thank you,” he said instead.

“At least she left us something to remember her by,” Ambrosius said, a little ruefully. He reached out and lightly touched the bandages on Ballister’s left arm. He did it without thinking, Ballister could tell, then tensed as he realized.

He looked up at Ballister, fingers still resting against his forearm. Their eyes met for a moment, and then before Ballister knew what he was doing he had leaned forward in a rush and kissed him.

There was a cacophonous silence in the room as they pressed together, neither breathing. Ballister felt Ambrosius move one hand towards Ballister’s face as if to touch it, then hesitate. It felt like ages, that moment. A bomb neither of them knew how to defuse now they had their hands on it.

Finally, Ambrosius tilted his chin, slow and careful, and pressed his lips against Ballister’s at a slightly different angle, and suddenly they were kissing. Ambrosius’s hands were around Ballister’s neck, Ambrosius’s nose was pressed against the side of his own, Ambrosius’s breathing was ringing in his ears, and Ballister’s mind was numb with it. After a few moments, Ambrosius broke away with a small noise: half giggle, half protest.

“What is it?” Ballister asked, his voice slightly slurred.

“It’s your beard. It’s scratchier than ever.” Ambrosius moved his hand to touch Ballister’s face, smiling slightly, and brushed his thumb across the offending stubble.

"Ambrosius...” Ballister began.

Ambrosius sobered, moving his hands to his lap. Ballister wished he would have left them.

“No, Ballister, look.” Ambrosius said. “You don’t have to say anything. I know I can’t stay here. I know I can’t... can’t expect anything....”

Ambrosius met his eyes, a determined look on his face. The was a small wrinkle between the fine, blond hairs of his furrowed eyebrows. Ballister didn’t know how to respond, or to explain, and Ambrosius kept holding his gaze with that heartbroken, stubborn expression. It was unbearable. Ballister felt a sob of frustration build in his throat.

“You,” he said, fiercely, “Don’t get to decide that for me.”

His breathing was speeding up and he couldn't stop it, anymore than he could keep his shoulders from tensing or the scowl off his face.

“Ballister,” Ambrosius said, totally bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

Ballister glared at him a long moment, fuming. Those tears were still there, he was only barely holding them back. He drew breath to speak with difficulty, not knowing what he was going to say.

“I love you, you _ass_ ,” he spat.

The moment the words left his mouth, he slumped as a sudden, overwhelming exhaustion hit him.

He let his arms fall at his sides, let all the fight go out of his shoulders.

There was the truth, finally.

He stared at a spot on the floor, unseeing. Each minute cable and wire clicked and re-calibrated in his mechanical arm as he let it go limp, as his hand relaxed out of a fist, and he loved him. The wind whistled through the corners of the room, full of ghosts and years of bitter loneliness, and he loved him. He loved him. He passed one hand over his face.

He turned back to Ambrosius, not quite meeting his eyes.

“So don’t just decide I don’t want you around without consulting me.”

There was another silence, deafening and endless as the first, as Ambrosius slowly sat upright and moved across the bed to Ballister. He knelt at his side and moved his arms back around his shoulders. When he leaned forward to whisper in Ballister’s ear Ballister heard his voice catch in his throat.

Ambrosius sat back and folded his hands in his lap, looking down. There were tears gathering in his eyes and his nightshirt was falling off his shoulder on one side. His hair was tousled but somehow still looked perfectly arranged, tucked into his bandage on one side. He was the picture of tragedy without even trying. Ballister’s chest hurt. He wanted to laugh. Instead he kissed him.

Ambrosius melted into it immediately, arms wrapping back around Ballister’s neck and pulling him with as he fell back into the pillows. Ambrosius sighed against him and Ballister suddenly felt the laughter bubbling back up in his throat before he could suppress it. He pulled away, smiling sheepishly.

Ambrosius looked up at him, questioning.

Ballister laid one hand on the side of Ambrosius’s face, still unable to stop himself smiling. He traced the side of his face with his thumb, then brushed Ambrosius’s hair back from his face and tucked it behind one ear.

It was a simple gesture, one he’d performed a hundred times before. Lying in the sun in the fields outside the training grounds, wrestling and kissing and holding each other. In the armory before a match, coupled with a quick stolen kiss, giggly and nervous. In bed in the middle of the night, watching him sleep and listening to the distant, drunken laughter of other knights, just studying the slight upturn of his nose and the moonlight in his eyelashes. Ballister had so many memories, so much he had never quite been willing to forget.

He looked down at Ambrosius, noticing the wrinkles beginning under his eyes and the slight worry lines on his forehead, and for once he didn’t feel bitter.

“I missed you,” he said.

“Ballister..” Ambrosius’s voice was wavering, so Ballister kissed him again. Ambrosius had always hated for people to see him cry.

Ballister cupped the back of Ambrosius’s head in his hands, letting his fingers tangle in his hair. Ambrosius sighed into his mouth again, and he moved his hands to touch Ballister’s back, pulling their bodies together. His body was warm under Ballister, and he buried his face in Ambrosius’s neck, just breathing.

“Ballister,” Ambrosius’s voice was high, almost a whine.

Ballister raised his head to look at him again, theirs faces inches apart. He had only a moment to note Ambrosius’s flushed face before he was being kissed again.

“What do you want,” Ballister said, muffled into Ambrosius’s mouth, dazed. “I’ll.... Anything.”

Ambrosius moaned and kissed him harder, then nudged Ballister’s shoulder until he took the hint and rolled over on his back, pulling Ambrosius on top of him.

Ambrosius’s hair tumbled over his shoulders in waves, and Ballister knew from experience that had he been naked it would have tickled his chest.

Ambrosius pressed him back into the pillows. He ran his hands down Ballister’s sides and then hesitated, his fingers light and nervous again Ballister’s hip. Ballister closed his hand over Ambrosius’s and guided it to rest against the underside of his upper thigh. He shifted to spread his legs so Ambrosius could rest between them.

They were quiet as they adjusted to fit together more comfortably, to re-align into the same old shapes. Ambrosius’s hipbone against the crook of Ballister’s thigh. Ballister’s ankle resting against Ambrosius’s calf. Even the flustered, slightly abashed expression on Ambrosius’s face was achingly familiar.

“Alright?” Ballister said, knowing, but wanting to ask anyway. 

Ambrosius blushed.

“Of course I’m alright!” he said, sounding eighteen again. Ballister smiled at him. He couldn’t remember when he'd smiled this much.

He moved his hands to rest on Ambrosius’s lower back, pulling him closer as they moved against one another. Ambrosius pressed kisses against Ballister’s neck and Ballister turned his face into Ambrosius’s hair. Their breathing echoed through the room, filling up all the corners.

~

Afterward they lay in a tangle, the weight of Ambrosius’s head on Ballister’s chest steady as his breathing evened out. Ballister ran his fingers through Ambrosius’s hair. Rays of sun were breaking through the clouds and getting in Ballister’s eyes.

Ambrosius raised his head, looking like he wanted to say something but was holding back. Ballister raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s just... I really like your beard,” Ambrosius said, suddenly bashful.

“You always liked my stubble.”

“You remember that?” Ambrosius asked, wide-eyed.

Ballister shrugged and nodded and waited to be kissed again. He didn’t have to wait long.

Finally Ballister put a hand on Ambrosius’s shoulder and pushed him back.

“We should clean up,” he said. Ambrosius buried his face in Ballister’s shoulder, making a low grumbling noise.

“Come on, let me up.”

Ambrosius rolled over, still grumbling.

“I’m going to run a bath.” Ballister said, sitting up. “You can join me, if you want.”

There was a pause.

“Oh, alright,” Ambrosius said, finally, muffled into the couch.

As he made his way to the bathroom, Ballister was surprised to find how calm he felt, how unconflicted.

He started the bath and tapped his fingers against the porcelain, drifting. He couldn’t quite explain, even to himself, why this was alright. Maybe he was simply being selfish, finally. Maybe he was tired of staying unhappy just for the principle of the thing.

He walked back to the living room and to the couch. Ambrosius had snuggled up to one of the pillows in his absence, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Ballister hesitated a moment, looking at him. The sunlight was catching his eyelashes and his hair was getting in his mouth already.

Something in Ballister’s chest tightened and relaxed at once, and he found himself smiling again.

He sat gently on the side of the couch, and reached out to wake him.


End file.
